


Every Scant Second

by bootcred



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Vomiting, horrorterrors bein horrorterrors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:16:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootcred/pseuds/bootcred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living in a lonely town can be hard, especially if you're Vriska Serket, and one of the only people you have left for company has taken up some dangerous habits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Scant Second

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nutcase](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nutcase/gifts).



AN: ok hey! this is my ladystuck fill, and im pleased as punch to post it! this is my first time writing a fic, and also my first time sharing creative writing publicly. im pretty nervous, but im just happy i finished this by the deadline. i swore i was gonna draw for this fill, but… as i was sketching out concept for it i realized that there could be so much more done with this than what i could just represent in an illustration. anyway, on with the show.

\---------------------------------------------

" _It was an unmodified, unlimited acceptance, an eternal yea. Jill suddenly had the feeling that Smith would unhesitatingly jump out the window if she told him to - in this belief she was correct; he would drop, and accept without surprise or resentment the discoporation on impact. Nor would have have been unaware that such a fall would kill him; fear of death was an idea utterly beyond him._ "  
\- from Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein

\------------------------------------------

 

At some unearthly hour of the morning, the power went out. It had the gall to take Vriska Serket's alarm clock down with it.

At 6:47 AM, the clock face read a blinking 4:32 AM, having been considerate as to keep counting minutes after the power woke back up, and the clock face reset itself to 12 AM. Vriska, having been woken up by the team effort of her malaligned luck and circadian rhythms, took about fifteen seconds to decide it was hellishly too early to be awake, turn the clock on its face, and roll back over. She slept for another few hours.

The sun rose, and a gutsy band of it shifted over her eyes like a luminescent blindfold. She mumbled a confused couple sentences, and  
groaned softly. Vriska turned to the clock, which read 9:03.

She was up quicker than a die could hit the floor. Shit, she's late. She checked her phone. One text, from Lalonde. Expected of course. It was sent after she had fallen asleep. It was mundane, a reminder.

Have him here not a minute after eight.

Vriska had absolutely no clue what made Lalonde want her cat back so badly. Probably, Vriska thought with a bitter snort, she'd alienated most people close enough to provide her with real human company. She sent a guilty glance towards the foot of her bed, where the little devil was sleeping peacefully. He did make a pretty good companion, she’d have to admit.

First, she had to blame someone for this atrocity. Her alarm clock didn't go off. She knew one person who liked to tinker with electronics.

He was probably holed up in his corner of the apartment by this point, tinkering on some insane project with a piece from some discarded soundboard he picked up off the side of the road, or a 15 year old PC, or some other atrocity composed of wires and huge circuit boards. His sleep schedules were an enigma to most people who knew him. Vriska did not like to go into his room, as it smelled strongly of rust and powerful armpit. They lived in their separate existences, a peaceful symbiosis. 

Often enough at least. Vriska pulled on some gym shorts, and pounded thrice on his door. 

"Might I suggest next time you might knock so loudly." The voice was complacent and deep, like one you'd expect of a huge farmhand who only knew the company of frightful horses.

"Did you mess with my alarm clock? I was supposed to wake up a fucking hour ago!"

"I did no such thing, perhaps you should do a little more investigating before making such brash accusations." There were some shuffling noises.

"Well, its blinking and stuff and-"

"Oh, pardon the interruption, but I assume that might because of the power outage. Mine reset as well."

Vriska stopped listening after that, and rushed to check her phone’s clock, hidden behind Lalonde’s text. 11:23. Oh shit, now she's really late. The panic that rose in her chest was pushed down by the shrill screech of her subconscious. Rose doesn't really need her cat back. Rose can deal. Rose is just being Rose, and pressuring her as some sort of mental chess game Vriska refused to take a part of. She's probably not even worried about her stupid cat.

Vriska decided then and there she wasn't worth worrying so much over.

Lalonde wasn't worth a lot of things. She wasn't worth the time Vriska spent wrestling hair into a ponytail for. She wasn't worth clean clothes, or bringing her wallet for in case they wanted to grab lunch or something. Rose was kinda worth the extra five minutes spent reading the advice columns in the paper and chewing a bagel though. 

Jasper was a surprisingly complacent cat, who only struggled a little as Vriska wrestled him into the little cat prison.  
Vriska took the bus over, and kept her head turned towards the window. Rose wasn't a long ride away. She got off at the stop, lugging Jasper with her. Walked up to the building. Kicked a couple rocks. Hiked the stairs, paced until she found Lalonde’s apartment.

Vriska had been here a few times, late nights drinking with Maryam and company. Of course, that was before Kanaya moved away when she to go to school far, far away across the ocean. London seemed so far away, at least. Maryam was... her best friend, Vriska might have said, in hindsight. They had grown distant when she moved, leaving Vriska with a lot of unspoken words and faint, dispassionate anger sitting like a dead bug at the bottom of her heart.

Her friends had dropped off her map, one by one. At this point she felt pretty unworldly and small, spending her evenings with the few friends she had left. Those were the ones who didn't have big city dreams, didn't have some crazy wanderlust or a charmed life and money to travel. Rose was one of them.

Vriska knocked in the most obnoxious way she could.

No reply. She knocked again.

Silence.

One more time, loud enough to hurt her knuckles, and she took a few steps back and waited.

Jasper shuffled in his carrier.

After about, oh, what was probably 30 seconds, but Vriska would later describe as “like, five entire minutes”, the girl pulled out her phone and called Rose’s number with angry words crawling around in the back of her throat. 

The machine answered.

\------------------------------------------

 

 

 

 

This was a problem. 

Vriska paced on the deck. She looked under Rose’s doormat. It wasn’t necessarily the end of the world, but it wasn’t great news. Not like Vriska really had anywhere to be today either.

Oh! Rose gave her an extra key when she handed over Jasper. She fished around in her pocket, and sure enough she withdrew a little bronze key from her track jacket. Score! 

Vriska closed it in her fist with a grin. She opened her palm to look at it again and her lips when tight. This was the key to her own apartment. Shit, shit. Rose was probably sleeping in her stupid cozy bed with her stupid comfortable bed her stupid rich mom bought her. Vriska yanked on the handle with contempt, losing her footing when the door opened to a dark apartment. 

A gross feeling crept up her stomach, shadowy fingers playing her vocal chords into tight knots and drying her mouth. Jasper meowed. The what-ifs tickled the worried parts of her brain. She ducked into the dark room, closing the door behind her. Light streamed in from outside, outlining shapes with grainy white lines. To her right was a kitchenette, to her left were a few couches arranged around a coffee table. A TV was in the corner. Straight ahead there was a door Vriska remembered as a bathroom, and a small hallway that gave way into a modest bedroom behind the kitchenette. The state of the place really was what set off ringing alarms.

Filthy pots stuck out of the sink, books were all over the floor. Dirty clothes, blankets, food wrappers littered the couches. It made Vriska wonder if Rose even left on her international monthlong hike to see Kanaya in the first place. No suitcases were to be seen. Again, a little flare of anger. So Vriska didn’t even need to take care of Jasper in the first place if Rose didn’t go on her trip? 

Tentatively, Vriska toed her way through the place, letting Jasper out at the door. She reached out with her voice, a careful Rose? that cut through the stiff silence.

The bedroom seemed like the most logical place to look first.

Nobody. It didn’t look any better, either. The sheets were stained with… Ink? Large black splotches bloomed across the bedsheet like ominous flowers. A huge tome accented with glimmers of gold leaf hung half off the bed, threatening to fall into the imposing black chest pushed up against the foot of it. More books were in it. Vriska pulled her head out of the bedroom, retreating nervously. No. No. She wasn’t nervous. 

Rose was probably just… on a study binge. Yeah. She probably decided to cram for some test or something her professors would push on her. Probably told Kanaya she couldn’t make the flight. Traffic. Weather. Study. Reschedule for fuck-it-who-knows-when.

Yeah. Yeah, sounds like Rose. Sounds like Rose. 

Wait. No. That really did sound like a Rose. 

An exhale, tinted with the sharp edges of Rose’s stained-glass tongue. Vriska turned to the bathroom door, and knocked on it lightly before opening it, and shrieking bloody murder.

The bathroom was softly lit, gently decorated with Rose’s eclectic and modern sense of style. Square paper lights above the sink. Candles on the sink itself, melted onto it a la altar style, and a small statue or two she probably took from the home she grew up in. The shower curtains might have been nice if they didn’t look like a dying man had expelled his slurried guts on them. Black… gunk was splattered and smeared across them. It was spackled around the rim of the toilet seat, all over the floor, over the discarded shirt that was thrown to the side, just basically fucking everywhere.

“What the fuck! _What the fuck!!!_ ”

Rose was draped topless over the side of the bathtub, the slick substance trickling at an irregular pace out of her mouth. She sent a frantic glance at Vriska, who logically responded by acting fast and shrieking again. She took a couple paces closer and quickly slipped, blackening half of her body with the disgusting fluid. Rose reached for her, but heaved, making a sound like mucous coming to a boil, as her jaw hinged back and a deluge of the stuff poured out of her mouth across the arm of the bathtub. It splattered against the bottom of the bathtub and freckled the lovely cream walls.

Her first instinct was to run, especially as she noticed the black stuff began to sting her palms. 

“Rose what the fuck is this?!” She hyperventilated, and Rose held up a palm as she heaved up a little more goo. “I’m calling 911!”

“It –“ Rose’s voice was not okay.

“It’ll be over quickly— Don’t-” She was interrupted by the apparent urge to vomit more than what appeared to be what the human stomach capable of withstanding.  
She sent Vriska a pleading look that was so… Unbecoming? No. Vriska couldn’t find the words. More like vulnerable. Like she really didn’t mean anything she said. Whatever she said was often colored with some shade of a sharp truth. 

Rose looked like she was about to fall apart. 

“They can’t do anything” She whispered with such concise conviction that Vriska stayed petrified, and convinced.

 

It didn’t end quickly.

\------------------------------------------

 

 

 

 

Vriska learned very little watching Rose vomit for a few solid hours. She learned that the goo stung, but didn’t eat away at her skin like she initially thought it would. She learned Rose’s tiny body could handle a lot more than Vriska gave her credit for. 

The morning came, but it wasn’t the good kind of morning.

It wasn’t the type of morning that comes when your lover exhales onto your neck, and brings you into a world of warm bodies and singing orioles. Not the kind of morning where you stretch, pull out the coffee and sigh to yourself thinking that this is going to be a good day. It was the kind of morning where you stay up all night and you miss the sunrise, and the cold white sky looks down on you in disappointment. Where your bones ache and your stomach feels like its quivering and about to melt in your body, and you can’t fathom eating because you don’t feel all that real. The gross hour of the morning. Not the real morning. 

It finally stopped, and Rose wasn’t moving. Vriska didn’t know why she stayed. Curiosity, repulsion, and the lingering worry that Rose might actually die, maybe. Right now, in her current state, her shaking fingers would not have been capable of pinning it down. 

She might have slept, but nothing felt too real. At some point Rose finally stood up, and Vriska realized that no sludge had been added to the mess in a good while. She eyed Vriska with a shaky glare, and turned the shower on. 

“Get in after me.” 

After she cleaned herself off and rinsed the thick caking of gunk off the bottom of the tub, Rose left the bathroom like nothing was wrong at all, avoiding the puddles of black sludge like a woman in heels delicately avoids black ice in winter.

Vriska felt like a responsibility had suddenly been thrust upon her, even though the request was a simple one. And for once, she complied.

A hundred questions rested on her tongue, but she was too exhausted and tired to sift through them. The metal clank of pans came from the other room after a couple minutes. Rose’s voice rang out from the other room, as cavalier as if Vriska just spent the night.

“Better to toss your clothes, unless you’re in possession of a stain remover so potent it would dissolve a corpse. I’ll lend you a pair of shorts and a shirt.”

\------------------------------------------

 

 

Vriska felt inappropriately comfortable and clean, freshly showered in Rose’s frustratingly soft clothes. Like, what the hell, Vriska was pretty sure she put at least half a bottle of fabric softener in her last load. Who even does that? She fixed the culprit with a questioning glare. 

They were both sat on adjacent couches, their breakfast plates picked at on the coffee table. Rose had a cup of black coffee, and Vriska did not feel up for it.  
“So.” Rose began, shifting. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, and I’d like to begin by saying this is strictly confidential.”

Vriska’s lips tightened, trying to find the words after watching Rose puke the river Styx in her bathroom. Her agitated leg swung so hard it hit the coffee table with a resounding clatter.

Her nonverbal outburst sent Jasper skittering out from under the couch. 

“I’ve been ill.” 

“You’re lying. Don’t piss around with me.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Tell me what’s happening to you.”

Rose rolled her head back and forth a little, stretching.

“I won’t lie. It’s been difficult. I won’t apologize for making you watch, though.” She took a sip of her coffee. “You very well could have stepped right out the door and gone home instead of sitting there and starin. Do you know why you didn’t go?”

“Stop grilling me. I asked you a question.” Vriska’s anger slipped through her words like icemelt leaking through rotten wooden planks.

“Leaves me wondering why you care.”

Again, Vriska stumbled over her words.

Rose fiddled with her hair. Paler than Vriska remembered it. “I suppose if I can’t do anything, I’ll be gone soon.” Her tone didn’t match the storm brewing in her expression. 

“Might as well tell you, as things are looking hopeless. I’m not expecting you to anything, but it might be nice not to – die alone? No, this doesn’t fit those criteria. _Discorporate_ is a better term."

“Anyway. I haven’t been to class in… Three weeks, is it now? My studies continue regardless, if you noted the incunabula and arcane instruments stacked in that black chest. I can’t really be quite bothered to give them the respect they deserve, as their authors aren’t granting me the same courtesy. I wouldn’t touch those, if I were you. I’ve always been entranced by the dark arts. Lately, the dark arts have been entranced in me. I left class when I found myself answering questions in tongues. I’m not sure if I even sleep anymore.” Rose let out a weary sigh, it was almost a little theatrical. She never seemed genuine around Vriska. Not even when they were younger.

“I don’t dream. I close my eyes, and open them and I’m elsewhere, walking among gods and the dead. They’ve taken an interest in me, as I use the time to fuck them over as much as possible. You could call it an experiment if you were being polite. And thus, this is the price.” She gestured to the bathroom.

“I’m not sure if I’ll die. Probably something much worse. They haven’t killed me yet, but I have some theories. Maybe I’m some sort of avatar or pawn. These episodes could just be a form of torture as well. A warning. Not that I’m going to heed it.” 

Vriska found her voice, surprised that she believed Rose’s incredulous story, and angry at her. “But why _the fuck would you ever do this?_ ” She was throwing her life away and it made her mad just to listen to her say this like she was telling Vriska what the grocery store was out of.

“I could go to college, get a job, live life as an author in quiet monotony and watch my friends die and grow distant. You know, a simple life.” Suddenly, Rose’s eyes lit up. “But doesn’t it thrill you to your very soul knowing that you’ve been chosen? That you could kill a god? That you could walk with your very feet on planes so terribly great, above and beyond comprehension of most mortal souls and spit in the eye of something that weaves the very threads of reality? While they weave them, most play them out of tune and control the fates like a child’s marionette. I’ve seen my fate play out and I’m going to _break it_.”

Rose leaned back.  
“I will _shatter_ what controls me. Even if its reality.”

\------------------------------------------

 

 

Back at her flat, Vriska couldn’t sleep, so she found solace in pacing. What did this mean for her? The thought of losing another…. Friend, or enemy, or obnoxious larky-snarky haughty asswipe, made her heart drop. She couldn’t let Rose know she was terrified. 

Midnight was a lonely time. Was Rose spitting in a god’s eye right now? Vriska kept replaying the scene in her head. Rose drowning in disgusting black bile. Vriska pictured her facedown on the floor right now, clutching her chest as her ribs cracked to accommodate the mass of fluid that was about to—

No. Stop thinking about Rose. It wasn’t worth it. You’re worrying too much. Make some food, watch a show, take your mind off it. Vriska heeded her conscience, and let out a soft fuck before heading to her kitchenette and setting a small pot to boil.

At around four, Vriska had sufficiently taken her mind off Rose by meticulous grinding in an MMORPG she’d carved out a name for herself in. She has dedicated an unholy amount of time to this stupid game, and viewed it as nothing more than a game. Her attitude and incredible luck put her on the leaderboards. Maybe Terezi was awake? Their ingame duo had been even more noteworthy, before a falling out Vriska did not want to recall right now.

Again, the eerie, sad note played in her head. Losing friends. Terezi did tell her that it was inevitable that she’d end up alone. Manipulation and an up front disregard for empathy had lost her more than one relationship. Vriska found herself feeling lonely as she stared at the busy screen. Like an amateur pianist, she delicately stretched her fingers across the keyboard. Alt-F4. 

\------------------------------------------

 

 

This was her fourth visit to Rose’s. Vriska couldn’t help feeling like she was visiting her grandmother when she was in hospice. The conversations were somehow intimate and detached at the same time, intense and in low voices that Vriska found frustrating. Rose’s voice wasn’t allowed to sound like some sort of sultry honey while she was speaking such infuriating words. The tension between the two hadn’t left. 

This time Vriska came over around one, and offered to cook for Rose, who was pouring over her books. Her skin was ashier, her hair paler. Her violent violet eyes seemed sharper and more intense, eerily almost human, but also not quite there anymore. Like a bird of prey. 

Vriska dropped the plate on her bed. The egg was prepared with care. The yolk was hard and dry as sandstone, and would probably crumble just as easily. The white was shriveled, dry and burnt-looking, almost like the genitals of an elderly woman.

Rose glanced at the egg, and back at Vriska. She did not thank her, and just smiled slyly. Curling her hands into fists, Vriska retreated back to her spot on the couch. The apartment was cleaner, they’d spent a visit cleaning up, and it was much more pleasant to be in.

Vriska was nonplussed by Rose’s choice in decoration. She apparently had a good amount of wizard figurines. Her walls did not go bare, signed, framed posters lined them, detailing her mother’s work and signing dates, all of which were long ago. Some photos lined the shelves, Vriska recognized the faces in them. John, Jade, her stepbrother Dave. Dave and her had an interesting relationship. They’d been close friends when they were younger, and their parents, both single, met through driving them to each other’s houses. It was a dream for a lot of best friends – to finally become siblings. Vriska couldn’t really interpret either of their feelings on it, both seemed wishy-washy when forced to discuss the topic and diffused it with their hellish sense of humor.  
Dave had moved since, Vriska couldn’t be assed to remember what he wanted to study. 

John had been a brief childhood romance. They’d dated just as they were entering high school, which meant John asked her to dances and gave her flowers, and Vriska tripped him in the hallway more than once. It ended soon after, but Vriska had a lingering feeling John’s attraction still played a minor role in his life. Who was she to say? It wasn’t her business anymore.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a choking sound, water and something heavy hitting the floor, and the sound of staggered foodsteps. “Vriska—“

Vriska found herself running into the other room, with determination and a heartbeat that could outpace a hummingbird. She picked up Rose, who was on the floor in a puddle, water dripping down her chin. She was a light girl, wireframed and almost a foot shorter than Vriska. Half dragging her to the bathroom, she brought her to the bathtub and Rose leaned over and let out a rush of what looked and smelled like murky seawater, slips of kelp and seaweed splashing against the basin. Vriska tried to catch her breath, and stared. 

She didn’t know what to do. 

The bathroom had been painstakingly cleaned. Crusty gray goo curled itself in the corners like rats in alleyways. The rugs had been removed and burned, along with the shower curtains. Vriska remembered throwing their clothes from the first incident into a trashcan aching with flames. Rose consoled her, and told her it was necessary. She remembered it well. The mood in the air was stiff and awkward. She remembered Rose brushing against her shoulder once, and glancing at her in a way that didn’t make it seem like that much of an accident. Vriska glanced at her back, in a way that _didn’t_ make it seem like she _didn’t_ want to push her into a trash can.

But right now, she didn’t feel the frustration and anger she usually did.  
So, she did what she thought might be right. This was important, and different because it wasn’t what she felt was very strongly right for her. She felt like this might be right for _Rose_  
.  
So she fell to her knees and tried to place her hand on Rose’s back, between her shoulderblades. Her hand came in like she was trying to test if a pan on the stove was hot enough to use, and it hovered right above her back for a stupid half-second. This was stupid. Vriska felt stupid. She rubbed her back, fear of the unknown gripping her and closing her lips. She could feel her body shudder, and her shoulders wrack with effort and pain.

They sat together, the only sound was the water, and the sound of Rose crying and heaving. 

\------------------------------------------

 

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

Rose looked up from her book, a normal book, seeming surprised by the question. She didn’t expect Vriska to talk, usually when she came over and they had free time they would sit in silence on the couches, Vriska on her phone and Rose wrapped up in a book, arcane or otherwise. If they weren’t sitting in silence, they were bickering and adding to the bowstring tension lacing the air, cooking, cleaning up after Rose’s episodes, burning sheets, other chores. Vriska had lost track, this was, what? Their 15th visit? She wasn’t sure. She was sleeping over sometimes, and that fucked her count up.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve never seen you cry unless you’re hurling disgusting slime into the bathtub.” Vriska said it with a patronizing scoff.

“I don’t cry.” Her tone was a little stiff. “It’s a matter of the strain on my face. Maybe I’ve spent three hours puking up eldritch backwash and maybe my throat is a bit raw or maybe my eyes just watered up a bit too much. I wouldn’t read into it.”

“Pf _ffffffffftt_ tt! Your ability to bullshit away your vulnerabilities is preeetty incredible. I got it, I got it. I can keep a secret.” She punctuated this with a wink.  
Rose scoffed. Vriska felt a pull in her chest. Lately the feeling had been coming on again and again.

It flared up in moments of silence. The silence was important and genuine. It felt like in those moments, some sort of mutual understanding that their words ran deep slipped through their bones and sinew and was caught between glances and parted lips.

Vriska found herself almost… happy that it was her helping Rose. Being there. She felt supremely idiotic for admitting this to herself, it felt like being pleased because the atmosphere at a morgue was so peaceful and quiet.

She got up to go take a lukewarm shower to cool off.

\------------------------------------------

 

 

 

Things had been getting worse.

 

Rose’s skin was losing its humanity, the flushes of life and warmth, progressing towards a gray-milky color. Her hair was a snowy white, no semblance of color in it from every angle and in every level of lighting. 

Vriska had taken to staying in the room and watching Rose study the tomes, pretending to be bored and bothersome. She really just enjoyed the other girl’s presence, but she wouldn’t admit it. When pressed about it, Vriska would say she wanted to be close when her episodes began so she could undress her quickly and bring her to the bathroom as soon as possible. She complained endlessly about having to clean up the disgusting otherworldly mess, and having to buy new clothes every few days because they burned so many. It was a good excuse, but Rose gave her a look that made her insides twist up whenever Vriska would insist it had nothing to do with her. Rose once told her she didn’t have to wear clothes at all if they just wasted time and got ruined anyway. Vriska told her, what are you, a pervert? and that was the end of that.

What was curious to both of them was that Rose’s personality changed not a bit as her skin and hair did. Her mood and disposition were the same, and that was enough to make both of them unsettled. Vriska asked her about it once or twice, while she was lying in Rose’s bed staring at the ceiling.

“If they changed me, they wouldn’t be punishing the same person. Or using the same person, I’ve discovered really nothing about their motivations. I know they want me, though.”

Vriska nodded and decided that she wanted her too. 

She turned to the side and fixed Vriska with a glare that made her nervous, because in moments like these she swore Rose was capable of reading her mind.

“Of course, that’s just a theory.”


End file.
